Attack of the Eating Angels
by The Mirthful Menace
Summary: In which the Doctor and Sherlock first meet, John is driven to the brink of insanity from their exploits, and the Eating Angels are introduced. P.S. Not in any way a romance.
1. Chapter 1: Sherlock

_Hiya, guys! So, yeah, this is my first story on . I wrote this a couple of years ago, so all the chapters are already completed, but just to irritate the crap out of y'all I figured I'd stretch out my updates. :D Don't worry, for the few of you who will actually read this story, I'll be updating every week, if not more often. ;) _

_And now...for the chapter..._

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

Sherlock dropped the gun back to his side. He hadn't had a case for about an **hour**. He was really starting to lose it.

He glanced back at the crude frowny face on the wall. It looked suspiciously a bit like his brother, Mycroft. Studying the three bullet holes, Sherlock noticed that Mycroft had lost an eye and an ear, and had a good-sized hole in his forehead.

Downstairs, a door was thrown open and slammed shut again. Sherlock could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs to his room. Before the door even opened, Sherlock knew who it was.

"Hello, John."

"Really, Sherlock? Again with the blasted wall?" John looked more closely at the face. "And….you drew **Mycroft** this time?!"

Sherlock spared a glance in John's direction. A clean suit, polished shoes….John had dressed to impress. He had obviously gone to try and get a girlfriend _(second time this month, honestly, it was getting __**dull**__ at this point – as if it had been interesting to begin with)_….and failed miserably. That much was evident by the mud that had been splattered on his pants.

Drawing himself back to the infinitely more important matter at hand, Sherlock turned away from John.

"I'm _bored._"

"Well, find a different way to occupy yourself instead of shooting the wall. Honestly, it's never done anything to **you**.

"That's debatable," Sherlock muttered.

"Sorry, what?"

"This wall is incredibly bland. It's not helping whatsoever. "

John opened his mouth to speak, decided against it, and opted instead to tiredly rub the bridge of his nose. "Seriously, Sherlock, find something else to do. Read a book?"

"Dull."

"Watch telly?"

"Dull."

"Take a walk."

"Dull."

"I give up," John sighed in exasperation and flopped down in a chair, simultaneously opening a newspaper.

Sherlock raised the gun again. BLAM!

Mycroft lost his nose.

John jumped about two inches into the air and gave Sherlock the evil eye. Getting up, he put aside his newspaper and snatched away the gun. He was about to store it in a drawer when he noticed a nick on the side.

"This is my gun!"

"Yes. Mine was out of bullets."

"You could have reloaded!"

"Why would I? Yours was right on the table and it was already loaded. Honestly, John, efficiency is key."

John opened his mouth, closed it again, then opened the drawer and slammed the gun inside. Picking up his newspaper, he returned to the chair.

Sherlock got up and reached for his coat.

"Where are you going?" John asked without looking up.

"Out. I'm finding your company to be quite unbearable."

John's knuckles turned white as he clenched the newspaper more tightly.

Sherlock shut the door behind him. Moments later, John heard the door below shut as well. He got up just in time to see Sherlock get in a cab and pull away from their apartment at 221B Baker Street.

"Wonder what he's up to now…," he muttered, then shook his head. There was just no telling with Sherlock.

_What's that? A text box? I wonder what it's for? Maybe type in your opinion of my story and click the review button to find out. If your computer fries as a result, I am in no way responsible. *shiftyeyes* Any opinions are appreciated, so feel free to "flam ma stry" if you want. ;)_


	2. Chapter 2: The Doctor

_This next chapter is very short, so I figured I'd post it in conjunction with the first. Actually, maybe I'll just make it a habit of posting two chapters at once. Just don't expect this to keep up in the sequel. (Oh, yes, there will be a sequel. Haven't __**started**__ the sequel yet, but I have ideas. So many ideas...muhahahahahahaha!) :D_

_Enjoy my lame-ass short chapter! _

_What a day,_ the Doctor thought irritably. The T.A.R.D.I.S. (Time and Relative Dimensions in Space) was spinning out of control. The Doctor ran around, pressing buttons and typing things into the controls.

_Lost Rose, fought the Daleks __**and**__ the Cybermen, and now this._ He shook his head. _Today is definitely not my day._

He picked up a hammer and whacked something, then stepped back slightly to admire the effect. The T.A.R.D.I.S. slowed so it was only hurtling towards the Earth at 100mph instead of 250 mph. The Doctor spun one of the dials and the T.A.R.D.I.S. gradually began to lose speed.

But now it was hurtling towards the cold, briny waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Brilliant.

"Oh, come ON!" The Doctor shouted in frustration. Resisting the urge to reach up and pull his hair right out of its roots, he banged on something else and quickly typed "London," into the coordinates.

Seconds later, a blue police box appeared in a dark alley just off someplace called Baker Street. The Doctor wondered if they **actually** had bakers here. He could go for a bit of banana cream pie just about now.

A few homeless people cautiously approached the box, staring at it with disbelief, sure it hadn't been there a few moments before. They scattered as the door opened and a man stepped out.

The Doctor picked up a soppy newspaper and looked at the date. 2011. Good. At least **that** part had gone as planned.

London had the **best** bananas in 2011. He needed to stock up on them. Bananas are great, and perfect for filling the current companion gap.

"Allons-y!" the Doctor yelled, and dashed out of the alley.

_Told ya it was short. Ah well, there just wasn't much to talk about with the Doctor, and Sherlock is up to something much more interesting...next chapter will be longer. Allons-y, amigos! :D_


	3. Chapter 3: Sherlock

_Well...yeah, I don't know if I'll be able to make myself leave the story for even a little bit. This is just too fun. :D As a result, this next chapter is coming to you several days earlier than I had planned. Enjoy...I hope. lmao_

As it turned out, Sherlock hadn't been "up to" much of anything when he left. He had truly just found John's company to be unbearable.

He decided to get some coffee at a café, then went off to go meet someone from the homeless network. Maybe they had something interesting going on. Like a serial killer. He **really** hoped there was some serial killer business going on right now. It could keep him occupied for 15-20 minutes, at least.

Ducking down into the underground, Sherlock spotted who he was looking for, an elderly man with a thinning grey hair and an over-sized plush winter coat. Sitting on a bench off to the side, he glanced surreptitiously at Sherlock and almost imperceptibly scooted over to the side to make a space.

Rolling his eyes at the man's lack of subtlety, strolled over and sat down, slipping the man a bill from under his sleeve. In return, the man passed him a small roll of paper.

Sherlock stuck around a bit longer just in case someone **was **watching (although, in all honesty, any attempt at appearing innocuous was already ruined by the other man's transparency), then got up and boarded the next carriage.

Once they started moving, Sherlock took out the note and unfolded it. One eyebrow began to slowly inch up his forehead as he scanned the paper.

Unfortunately, there was no serial killer about (that they knew of), but the note claimed that a blue box had apparently manifested out of thin air very close to Sherlock's apartment. Someone (actually, Sherlock could tell it was the old man given the slight waver in the lettering from arthritis afflicted fingers) had made a side note saying _"one of 'em Police Public Call Box – you know, from the 60's." _

Sherlock rolled his eyes in disdain. What did they think him a complete idiot? Of course he knew what a Police Public Call Box was…and, wait…

The note also said that a man had stepped out of the mysterious appearing box.

Hrm.

Was the circus in town or what? Honestly, sometimes he wondered why he even bothered to keep these nincompoops around. The whole thing was preposterous – and he wouldn't put it past the homeless to start seeing things, what with how they spent their weekends tripping on acid.

_Dull,_ Sherlock thought, _if that's it, then I think I'll just go pick up a foot from the lab. I've been meaning to study toe cheese and it's effects on shoe odor for quite a while now…_

The carriage ground to a halt, and Sherlock stalked out.

_Well, I had to justify the T-rating somehow. Mentioning drugs was the perfect way to go about it. :D Also - I hope I aptly represented the Tube system...I'm not British, have never been to Britain, and, well, have no idea how things work over there beyond what I learn in Doctor Who and Sherlock. So...if any of you guys notice something wrong, just drop me a message and I'll get right on correcting it. Honestly, you could tell me the British ride sparkly pink unicorns around London and I wouldn't bat an eyelash. Lol. ;)_

_Bow ties are cool,_

_Scarves are great,_

_John's a fool,_

_Review and rate!_


	4. Chapter 4: The Doctor

Mmmm…

The Doctor smacked his lips in appreciation. These bananas were _delicious_. They had been a bit more expensive than usual, but that was of no concern to the Doctor, whose sonic screwdriver possessed the ability to make him an instant millionaire, if he so chose.

Not that he ever would. The Doctor infinitely preferred time/space travel in his T.A.R.D.I.S. to some dirty slips of paper.

He was sitting on a bench near the alley where his T.A.R.D.I.S sat, munching on a banana. Beside him sat a large recyclable bag filled with more of his favorite fruit.

The Doctor smiled. The day was getting _slightly_ better.

_Jeeze, the Doctor is getting all the short chapters isn't he? That'll change soon; I guess Sherlock is just more interesting than Ten at the mo. Also, have I made the Doctor into a tree-hugger? Why the hell is he using a "recyclable bag?" Maybe after that Tree of Cheem lady died in the End of the World he decided to go a bit green. Dunno._

_No reviews yet. I have given a_ _name to my pain, and it is Batm- er...people who don't review. :S :(_


	5. Chapter 5: Sherlock

Sherlock stepped out of the cab onto Baker Street, carrying a sealed plastic bag in his left hand. He was about to mount the steps to 221B Baker Street, but then spotted an alleyway out of the corner of his eye.

The alleyway the homeless people had mentioned.

And there was a blue box in the middle of it.

Sherlock stared at the box for a few more seconds, mulling it over. To go over to the box would imply that he believed in all of this nonsense. But not going over there would remove a chance to sate his boredom...and he was so dreadfully bored. Another minute without something to do, and he might have to go find Moriarty and tie him to a chair until he agreed to do something interesting.

Sherlock stood there a few more seconds, then made up his mind. He descended the steps and headed over to the alley, walking over to the box to inspect it thoroughly. There was a small sign on the front of it, but the words were so smudged and aged that it was nearly impossible to make anything out. Rubbing some of the grime off, he was able to see that it said the following:

"POLICE TELEPHONE"

FREE

"FOR USE OF"

"PUBLIC"

"ADVICE AND ASSISTANCE OBTAINABLE IMMEDIATELY"

"OFFICERS AND CARS RESPOND TO ALL CALLS"

"PULL TO OPEN"

Standard notice for Police Public Call Boxes, back in the day. Although, Sherlock found, pulling on the door did not, in fact, open it. It appeared to be locked quite firmly, and Sherlock didn't waste any more effort trying to open it, instead opting to inspect the box further.

It was really quite dirty, the paint faded and streaked in a number of places. The front door had numerous hand prints and smudges on it, and Sherlock could see sneaker marks on the edge of the entrance. Originally a deep indigo, the box now appeared more gray than blue. And yet, the wood did not appear chipped in any places. Sherlock could only assume that this was due more to the box's durability than to the attentiveness of its upkeeper. Clearly the box had some sort of owner - the handprints were fresh. And there were many of them. Of many different sizes. Many appeared to be female. In fact, all of the male handprints appeared to belong to the same owner. Sherlock grimaced. It wasn't a rapist, there were so signs of struggle in any of the handprints, they all seemed to push against the door of the box willingly, if not eagerly. Likely, some old sot was just using the box as a private place to engage in recreational activity with drunk, tired strippers. What a waste of time. Although, it was odd...there were no signs of high heels - the footwear seemed to be more along the lines of boots and running shoes. And there was also no club nearby - the man would have had to walk his "friend" quite a distance before finally reaching the box. Quite a distance to go for a 6ft x 6ft box. Sherlock's original hypothesis wasn't working. But why else would a man be taking girls into a cramped police telephone box from the 60s?

Still musing, Sherlock was just about to leave when a shout rang across the alleyway.

"OY!" JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING WITH MY T.A.R.D. - er...TELEPHONE BOX?!


	6. Chapter 6: The Doctor

_Thank you for the follow and favorite MidnightFedora and musicgal365. Here's the next chapter, as promised, it is considerably longer. ;)_

The Doctor was back to being irritated.

The bananas had put him in a good mood for a bit, but this day had been pretty crappy after all. This man had no right to be near his T.A.R.D.I.S., especially when the Doctor was in such a foul mood. He had no idea what was coming to him.

The Doctor strode up to the man, the bag of bananas swinging at his side. As he walked forward, he glanced over the man, taking quick inventory of his appearance and clothing.

He was tall, but maybe an inch shorter than the Doctor. Skinny too, and dressed completely in black, with the exception of a dark blue scarf. With pale skin, dark curly hair, and sharp, prominent cheekbones, he nearly resembled the Grim Reaper.

Actually, scratch that, the Doctor had met the Grim Reaper once. Quite a nice bloke, even if he did have a rather theatric air. It got a bit annoying after awhile, in all honesty – the cowl and the scythe were hardly necessary. Bit daft too, the only thing he really understood was sailing. This man's eyes, grey and piercing, saw everything, scanning the Doctor from head to toe. The Doctor could almost see the cogs turning in the man's brain.

The Doctor resisted the urge to smile. This man was no dummy – he could tell that he would be great fun to have around. All the same, he **had** irritated the Doctor on a bad day, and that in and of itself was unforgiveable.

Stopping short in front of the man, he demanded, "Just who are you, and what do you think you're doing?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "Just admiring your, er…telephone box. Or, T.A.R. as you called it?

The Doctor humphed, "That's the T.A.R.D.I.S. to you, yo-," suddenly the Doctor noticed the other man was smiling.

"You just said that so you could find out what I called it didn't you?" the Doctor accused.

Sherlock smiled slightly, and didn't answer, instead saying, "As to who I am, that's for me to know and you to find out."

The Doctor grinned. "Oh, I do know."

Sherlock looked slightly surprised. "Oh?"

"Yeah," the Doctor replied, "there's a sticker on that bag you're carrying with your ID, Mr. William Sherlock S. Holmes."

Sherlock looked disgruntled. "Just Sherlock will do."

"Nah, that wouldn't be proper, William Sherlock! So….," the Doctor swung an arm around Sherlock's shoulders, ignoring the irritated crinkle in his eyebrows, and swiveled them both around to face the T.A.R.D.I.S. "what do you think of my box?"

Sherlock extracted himself from the other man's grip and turning up his coat collar as he did so and backing away slightly. "I think it's confusing," Sherlock said, then added, "And I find you confusing, sir. Why exactly have you taken possession of a police telephone box from the 60's, locked it up tightly, and led numerous young girls into it?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed with that last sentence.

The Doctor's eyes widened, and he seemed almost about to laugh. "Oh, you thin-this is…ohh, you're going to be a fun one. How do you even know that I've brought girls in here?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, the answer would be obvious even to one as stupid as John. "The handprints of course, honestly."

The Doctor nodded. "Oh, yeah, I suppose there is that. But how do you know I brought the girls in? Maybe there was a club of girls using this as a hideout before I came along."

"I had considered it, but the female's handprints are often placed in conjunction to the male's handprints, their footwear is similar to yours in that it is suitable for running, and…really? A cramped telephone box for a hideout? Hardly seems convenient. Plus, it's locked, and I know for a fact you have the key since some…associates of mine saw you leaving the box earlier this morning. True, you may have acquired the key later on, but I don't find this likely, as all the female handprints seem to be fresh. There could also be multiple keys, but for both you and the girls to have a key to the same box, there must be some sort of connection."

The Doctor's eyebrows had disappeared into his hair. "Brilliant!"

Sherlock nodded modestly. "Yes, I tend to get that often. Well, either that or a heartfelt 'fuck off.'"

The Doctor wagged a finger in front of Sherlock's face with a reproving look, "Language, language, language…also, why would they be telling you to – er….why would they be telling you that?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. It was getting tedious explaining this every time, and it was rather nippy out. "Tell you what, come back to my apartment, and I'll explain it to you over tea."

The Doctor grinned, slowly and widely. "I think this might be the beginning of a great friendship, William Sherlock. How do you feel about travel?"

"I'll travel anywhere if it means I won't be bored," Sherlock muttered irritably, "And just Sherlock!"

The Doctor winked. "Oh, I don't think you'd have to worry about that, traveling with me, William Sherlock."


	7. Chapter 7: Sherlock

_Thank you for the follow and favorite FairyButler2120!_

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><p>Sherlock walked his new companion up the stairs to his flat.<p>

The man was tall and thin, wearing a blue suit, a long, brown trench coat, and red and white trainers. The components of his get-up were incongruous, and his shirt wasn't even buttoned fully at the bottom. His hair was messy, and stuck up in the front – it looked as though the man had barely bothered to brush it when he got up.

Well, either that or he had had a very hectic day. Now that he thought about it, the man did seem rather harried, and tired, and his suit and trench coat were quite dusty and dirty. The border of his trench coat even seemed to have some scorch marks on it.

_Yes_, thought Sherlock, _he was definitely up to something before I found him. The question is: what?_

Sherlock didn't know. But he **did **know he was tired of having no name to attach to the man. Just as he was opening his mouth to speak however, the man started to blab at him again.

"So, now that we're out of the cold, mind answering my previous question? Also, what's in your bag? I have a bag too. Mine has bananas. Bananas are brilliant. Oh, your's has a foot? That's nice – I just found my old hand today, it got severed a few months ago. That isn't your foot is it by any chance? No? Shame…say, why **do** you have a foot anyway?"

Sherlock groaned internally. It was like a hyperactive puppy had suddenly learned to speak English and was very curious about Sherlock's whereabouts.

Also, did he just say he had **lost a bloody hand**?

Sherlock glanced down just to double-check. Nope, the man had both hands, and neither was a prosthetic. Interesting. Was he lying then? He didn't appear to be, but Sherlock couldn't think of any other explanation, beyond one dealing with supernatural humanoid beings.

"Whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," he muttered to himself absent mindedly.

The man looked at him askance. "What's that?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, not bothering to look at the other man. "Nothing, just reminding myself of something. Anyway…what's your name?"

The Doctor grinned mischievously, suddenly looking like a kid right before Christmas. "The Doctor."

Sherlock frowned slightly. Obviously the man was looking for Sherlock to ask for more information. Not feeling in the mood to play his games, Sherlock just shrugged and replied, "Oh, that's nice."

The Doctor looked slightly disappointed. "What, that's it? Most people ask…," The Doctor looked at him reproachfully, "The correct response is 'Doctor Who?'."

Sherlock hid a small smile. "Actually, it would be 'Doctor Whom,' according to standard grammar rules."

The Doctor looked disgruntled, and muttered under his breath, "What are you part of the grammar police?" Beyond that, however, he dropped the subject, seeing that Sherlock wasn't going to indulge him, and continued to trudge up the stairs in silence for awhile.

It appeared the Doctor couldn't remain so dejected for long though, and soon a bright expression had spread across his face. The retinue of questions continued as though it had never stopped.

"You have yet to answer either of my questions though. Wait until we get to the flat? But I'm booooored….Have you ever met the Grip Reaper? How much farther? I've been running all day, my feet are tired. Are we there yet?"

Sherlock stopped himself from covering his ears, knowing that that was exactly the reaction the Doctor was looking for. Instead, he forced himself to endure the string of questions and complaints as they neared closer and closer to the door of Sherlock's flat.

_This is going to be hell,_ Sherlock thought to himself dismally. _Why must all the doctors I meet be **such goddamn pains in the arse**_?

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><p><em>Happy New Year everybody!Hope everyone had a great Christmas, and well wishes for 2015. :)<em>

_I haven't got any reviews yet, and maybe that's just because I'm awesome and my story is flawless, but I highly doubt that. Lmao. It'd be nice to get some feedback, so I'll make a deal with you. If I get even one review this week, I'll post the next two chapters within 24 hours after the review. Please provide constructive criticism - for instance just "great job," or "you suck," or "go to hell," don't tell me why you think I'm doing a great job, why I suck, or why I should go to hell. I'd at least like a reason before you send me to visit Satan. Lol. :D_

_Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Even if I don't get any reviews, the next chapter should be up by next Friday._


	8. Chapter 8: The Doctor

_Longest chapter yet, whew. Thank you so much for the reviews Anonymous and "Katie" M. I replied in the reviews section. __J_

_Hope you enjoy the chapter – I wasn't expecting anyone to actually review, and thus, the writing was a bit hasty. I'll probably be going back to tidy it up a bit. Lol, should have prepared. Either way, here you go!_

The Doctor stepped inside 221B Baker Street. The man, Sherlock Holmes, was right behind him, looking a tad disgruntled that the Doctor hadn't waited for Sherlock to open the door first. Pushing in front of him, Sherlock pointedly led him into the main room, cluttered with books, newspapers, etc. Adjacent to this room was a smaller room, one that was obviously supposed to serve as the kitchen/dinette, but had turned into a laboratory for experimental whatnot. Test tubes, microscopes, chemicals, and more books laid scattered around the table. Talk about a hazardous set-up.

Sherlock motioned for the Doctor to make himself comfortable in the main room, then went in to the lab/kitchen to set down his bag.

The Doctor looked longingly over at the makeshift lab, then turned around to inspect the living room, noticing, as he did so, that there was a main sitting in an armchair off to the side, looking completely bewildered.

His eyes strayed to Sherlock who was putting his something in the refrigerator, then returned to the Doctor.

"Er, hello…," the man said hesitantly, then, in a slightly louder, almost plaintive voice, called out, "Sherlock, would you care to introduce us?"

Sherlock shut the refrigerator, then spun around to regard the other two men in thinly veiled irritation. "Can't you see I'm busy? Oh, very well…Doctor, this is my colleague, John Watson. John, this is the Doctor." His tone was light, but there was a warning look in his eyes, telling John that he didn't quite understand who or what the Doctor was yet, and to be careful.

John looked back at the Doctor again, looking slightly impressed and a tad more cautious. After all, it was rare that Sherlock didn't understand things – and, if he knew Sherlock, he knew it was going to be the subject of much ire until he worked it out.

The Doctor, who had understood the entire exchange, resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and stepped forward to shake John's hand. "Nice to meet you," he said, grinning.

John smiled genially, and opened his mouth as if to reply, but the lure of the kitchen proved too much, and the Doctor was already off to examine Sherlock's latest experiments.

"Fascinating," the Doctor said, taking out his glasses and putting them on self-importantly. He paused to taste one of the chemicals, much to John's chagrin.

He glanced over at Sherlock.

"Looking for the cure to the common cold and cancer?" he asked.

"Just a side project," Sherlock replied nonchalantly, but inwardly stunned, and very, **very** curious…he was going to figure out this man if it killed him!

The Doctor smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I'd help, but that doesn't come around for another two centuries or so. By accident too. Almost caused an explosion which could have destroyed the warehouse she was being held captive in," the Doctor paused, thoughtfully, "but then again, perhaps that would have been better. Sparked a whole new age of chemical warfare and led to World War V that did."

John's mouth dropped open. He gawked at the Doctor, then turned to gape wordlessly at Sherlock, who, for a change, actually looked stunned.

Sherlock could tell the Doctor wasn't lying…or at least, he **thought** he was telling the truth. But Sherlock couldn't detect any signs of disorders, with the exception of ADHD, hyperactivity, and PTSD.

Just who **was** this man?!

Meanwhile, the Doctor had turned back to Sherlock, and, seeing that Sherlock seemed lost in thought and wasn't going to say anything any time soon, he jumped over the coffee table and grabbed a newspaper of he bookshelf.

"Um…., John said uncertainly.

"SHHHH!," Sherlock whispered angrily, who had snapped out of his reverie to gaze intently at his mysterious guest.

The Doctor was staring at the headline of the newspaper, and the caption that followed. The smile had slid of his face, and his expression began to morph into one of fury. His hands shook with barely contained rage.

"BANANAS!" he yelled suddenly, brandishing the newspaper in front of their faces.

John and Sherlock looked at each other, confused and alarmed. "Whaaa…?" John said, looking completely befuddled. Had Sherlock just invited a crazy person into their home?

"Didn't I just say?" The Doctor asked angrily. "Bananas, that's what! Look here! Bananas are disappearing of the face of the Earth! Just my luck too, I like one fruit, **one** fruit, and that has to be the thing to go. Why couldn't pears be the ones to go?"

This was the cause of the man's apoplectic rage? "You're mental," John whispered, gaping at the Doctor.

Shaking his head, John turned to Sherlock, remembering that he had put something in the fridge. Hoping to steer the conversation back to normal, _sane_ ground, he asked, "What did you put in the fridge before?"

"Oh, just a foot. I got it fresh from the lab. Needs to stay cold," Sherlock frowned thoughtfully. "In fact, the fridge might not be cold enough…I'll just go pop it in the freezer, shall I?"

John groaned, placing his fingers to his temples.

"Hey!" the Doctor yelled impatiently. "Is no one else worried about the banana shortage here?"

John's mind snapped. Muttering about needing to get away from his lunatic of a roommate and his insane associates, he tugged on a coat and hurried out into the cold.

"What's up with him?" the Doctor asked curiously, peering through the curtains to watch John hurriedly hail a cab.

Sherlock looked at the Doctor in exasperation. The conversation was rapidly getting out of hand, and the Doctor's continual switching of moods was getting hard to keep up with. Possible borderline personality disorder? No...that didn't seem likely. Probably more along the lines of attention deficit and hyperactivity.

Sherlock broke away from his thoughts - the Doctor was still looking out the window inquisitively. "Never mind, him, Doctor." Sitting down in one of the armchairs, Sherlock steepled his fingers. "It's high time you gave me an explanation, "Doctor." Just who are you? Why did you come here?"

Sherlock bent forward, eyes hardened into chips of flint. "I will figure it out whether you tell me or not, Doctor. I have yet to encounter a case I could not solve."

The Doctor grinned, turning from the window and sitting in the opposite chair from Sherlock. "I bet you haven't, William Sherlock. I think I owe you an explanation…let's see…have you ever heard of Time Lords before?"

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><p>Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'll be posting the next one momentarily...also, fyi, Sherlock does actually know more about the Doctor than he's letting on. The next chapter will reveal more of his deductions. :)<p> 


	9. Chapter 9: Sherlock

Sherlock examined the Doctor as he sipped his tea.

After a fantastical tale of extraterrestrial beings known as "Time Lords," monsters called "Daleks," and "Cybermen," Sherlock was seriously starting to wonder whether he had misjudged this person after all. He wasn't lying, but that didn't mean that what he was telling wasn't the truth. He just _believed_ it to be the truth. Perhaps he had just gotten bumped on the head especially hard once. Wouldn't be a long –shot, after all, Sherlock _had_ detected signs of PTSD, similar to John, so he had concluded that the Doctor had been involved in some sort of war or battle. He didn't seem like your average warrior, but then again, soldiers come in all different shapes and sizes. Plus, it didn't have to be a war, although Sherlock strongly believed it was. PTSD could result from an traumatic event. Heck, there were some people who were diagnosed with PTSD after break-ups.

Another possibility could be that the Doctor had schizophrenia. But, although this would explain the withdrawal from reality and bizarre perceptions, the Doctor did not appear to be mentally unstable.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. An enigma. An impossible enigma. And it was driving him crazy.

This was not helped by the Doctor's buoyant nature, who was currently rambling on about some planet called Krop Tor. As nonsensical as the planet he claimed as his place of origin, Galligoo, or something.

Suddenly, the Doctor paused mid-ramble, snapping his head to look at Sherlock contemplatively. "You know what, I just can't do without my bananas. And they shouldn't be disappearing. They should be at their peak development right now. So what's happening? Whatever it is, I'm going to put a stop to it. No one takes away **my** favorite fruit."

Standing up, he started towards the door. "Sorry. I'll have to skip the tea. Nice seeing you. Maybe I'll stop by again after I resolve this banana shortage."

Sherlock stood up as well. He'd be damned if he was letting this man out of his sight before he figured him out. "I'm coming too."

The Doctor looked at him, a smile spreading across his face, and suddenly Sherlock knew the Doctor had known he would demand to come along. "Sure thing! First though, you and the T.A.R.D.I.S. have to be properly introduced…allons-y!"


	10. Chapter 10: The Doctor

The Doctor and Sherlock walked side by side to the alley, matching each other stride for stride as they neared the T.A.R.D.I.S., half-hidden in shadows thrown by the nearby buildings. As they walked, the Doctor kept sneaking glances at the man walking alongside him, while Sherlock seemed to almost pointedly ignore him, instead focusing his attention on the blue box as they approached.

"Sooo….." the Doctor drawled, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he spoke. "What do you, er…do?"

"I'm a consulting detective," Sherlock replied without sparing a glance in the Doctor's direction. Sharp grey eyes continued to flick over everything almost frantically, as though trying to piece together a puzzle before someone showed him the answer.

The Doctor felt a smirk tugging at his lips. It would take a genius even greater than Sherlock Holmes to figure out what was going on here.

"Consulting detective? Never heard of that before…" the Doctor replied, ignoring Sherlock's brusque response and pretending not to notice that the other man was trying to focus.

Sherlock sighed irritably. "No, you shouldn't have. I came up with it." They had reached the T.A.R.D.I.S. The moment had arrived.

The Doctor decided to draw it out a bit longer, just for snorts and giggles. "You invented your own job? How did yo- never mind, I suppose with brains like yours, it wasn't hard to find an opening for a position that didn't even exist. So, what does a consulting detective **do**?"

"Chances are, even you wouldn't understand it if I tried to explain it in detail. Suffice to say, I observe everything, and from what I observe, I deduce everything. When I've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how mad it might seem, must be the truth."

"But wouldn't that just make you a detective?"

"No. I consult for the detectives."

"But…."

"I didn't become a detective, because if I did, I wouldn't get to choose the cases I worked. That would mean I would get a whole bunch of boring, easy cases, and only a few of the interesting ones. Thus, I'm a consultant for the detectives. I work on my own terms…for the most part."

"Brilliant!" the Doctor snapped his fingers, supposedly in delight at Sherlock's genius, but with the sound, the doors of the T.A.R.D.I.S. slowly creaked open to reveal a softly pulsing golden light from the interior.

"Now that we've gotten that out of the way….shall we?"

(line break)

Don't kill me! I'm sorry for the long wait, I lost my notebook where I'd written this whole story down, so now I'm writing off of memory. Don't worry, you're not missing much, the skeleton of the plot is the same, and the actual writing is…loads better, trust me. I'll try to get the next chapter up ASAP. And also, to all those new reviewers – thank you for sticking with me, and your support means so much! :D :D :D


	11. Chapter 11: Sherlock

Sherlock looked from the Doctor's grinning, expectant face to the soft golden light pulsing from the interior of the strange blue box.

_It could just be a really bright lamp_, he thought to himself half-heartedly, even though he knew it couldn't be true. True, it was possible that the Doctor had just left the light on when he had left (Sherlock didn't take him for the kind of person to look behind himself or waste much concern over the state of his….hideout? home?...box?), but the palpitations of the light were unlike any lamp he had ever seen. Additionally, he had been in several old Police Telephone Boxes before, and he didn't recall any of them containing a lamp, or other source of light. Of course, it was possible that the Doctor had recently installed a light fixture, seeing as he was using this….box as a sort of hideaway, but then agai-

"Well, go on then," the Doctor finally said, impatient with Sherlock's lack of action. "You're not going to figure anything out just standing there. Have a look."

_I don't need to step inside the box to solve this mystery, I'm quite capable of figuring it out just standing here – it's not as if the effort of motion is going to facilitate my thought processes, _ Sherlock thought irritably, but stepped forward none the less, and reached out to push the door of the blue box open wider…

_What the…_for a moment, Sherlock was struck speechless. If John had been there, he would have been taking pictures, making a home video, and trying to get Sherlock to write down his feelings in a notebook, just to mark the occasion.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" the Doctor asked proudly, gazing at the interior of his beloved T.A.R.D.I.S.

For within the "Police Telephone Box" (Sherlock wasn't sure what this thing was, but it certainly wasn't an old telephone box from the 60s), was an expansive circular interior, far larger than the box in which it was contained. The walls, which were marked with strangely glowing hexagonal shapes, curved upwards to crest in the center of the strange room. A blue column, pulsing with the same supernatural light as the hexagons lining the walls, reached down from this point to connect to a central fixture. If Sherlock was in any state to try and put the deduction stage of his detective process into motion, he would have guessed that this fixture served as a sort of control center, given the numerous switches and levers and buttons on its frame. But a control center for _what?_

Sherlock closed his eyes for a minute. This was too much, he needed to block out the sight of this strange contraption, if just to gain a measure of understanding.

"Any…comments?" the Doctor asked innocently, seemingly missing the fact that Sherlock was experiencing a mental breakdown. "Anything you might want to add?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, a bit unfocused compared to a minute ago. "It's….it's….," he stammered.

"Yeeeesss?" the Doctor asked excitedly? "It's…b-b-bigger…"

"It's completely illogical!" Sherlock bellowed, then rushed around the outside of the box, determined to make some sense of the whole situation.

The Doctor sighed. He should have known not to expect an easy response from Sherlock.

"What are you playing at, 'Doctor'," Sherlock sneered, rushing around the other side of the box to pin the Doctor at the end of his finger. "What is this? What did you dose me with? This is completely impossible – and I'm going to have you in Lestrade's hands at the end of this for…for…being completely unbearably irritating!"

_I see he gets cranky when he can't make sense of things, _the Doctor thought, resisting the impulse to sigh and roll his eyes.

"Now, now, let's not get hasty," he said instead, smiling brightly. He found that smiles were infectious, not even Sherlock could stay irritable after being exposed to such a sunny disposition.

"This is my T.A.R.D.I.S. Wanna guess what that stands for? No? Ah, well oh well. It stands for Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. Meaning, that I can use her to travel through time in space. T.A.R.D.I.S.'s are equipped with chameleon circuits to allow them to blend in to their surroundings, but her's is broken, so she's stuck looking like a Police Telephone Box from the 60s," he smiled grudgingly, "tell the truth, I've come to kinda like it. Blue always was my color, and this is such a nice, indigo-y color. Plus, the yellow/gold of the interior really sets it off, if I do say so mysel-"

"WHAT AREYOU, SOME KIND OF DESIGNER? GET OUT OF MY WAY, I'M CALLING LESTRADE!"

The Doctor's eyes widened in mock alarm. "Oh, no, look! It's a Cyberman!"

"A wha-?" Sherlock turned around to look where the Doctor was pointing, allowing his counterpart to grab hold of his coat and haul him into the T.A.R.D.I.S.

"What are you doing to m-let go, this is pure Irish wool tweed – they don't make these anymore! Let go! Let goo-"

With that last syllable, however, the Doctor had already thrown Sherlock into the T.A.R.D.I.S. and slammed the door shut.

Ignoring Sherlock's continued ranting and angry shouting (come on, it wasn't like he was **really **kidnapping him, he'd have the man back in time to greet John when he came home, and besides, he had just been complaining that here was nothing to do. Had the Doctor not just solved the man's problem? Honestly, you'd think he'd be a bit more grateful, this was quite a magnanimous gesture on the Doctor's part…), the Doctor rushed to the control center and started to set in coordinates for South America.

Sherlock glared at the back of the Doctor's head as his lunatic kidnapper rushed around the console, pulling levers and switching switches. First chance he got, he was going to find a crow bar and wallop him.

(line break)

_Hrm. Well, in my original story, this never developed into a kidnapping. In the original story, Sherlock was convinced that he was having a bad dream from eating too much of John's seven layer dip, but decided to go along with it in the end because he had nothing better to do. However, seven layer dip struck me as too American, so I decided to go in a different direction. Hahahaha... poor Sherlock. Or perhaps I should say poor Doctor, crow bars make pretty nasty weapons. :S_

_Is it a good direction? A bad direction? To be honest, I think this is a bit more in line with the Doctor and Sherlock's personalities, plus the circumstances of a kidnapping lends far more in the way of creative plot development. :D :D :D_

_We're in for a bumpy ride! Thank you all for your continued support, and I hope this long chapter helps to make up for the long wait in between Chapters Nine and Ten. :D_


	12. Chapter 12: The Doctor

"We're here!" the Doctor announced brightly as the T.A.R.D.I.S. ground to a halt with it's usual accompanying whirring sound. Stepping back from the console, he turned to address his abductee.

Sherlock just glared at his kidnapper with as much malice as he could muster.

"Oh, come on, it's not like I'm _not _going to take you back. You need to loosen up a bit Sherlock, open your mind to new things. Besides, you _were_ just complaining you were bored..."

Sherlock smirked. "Oh, so 'Sherlock' is it now? So we're done with that whole William Sherlock business?"

The Doctor grinned. "Never, William Sherlock! Just slight abbreviation of your proper title, won't happen again. Anyway...," the Doctor stepped leaped down the stairwell to push the doors to the T.A.R.D.I.S. open. Immediately, the console room was permeated by the sound of chattering monkeys, frogs, insects, birds, and a number of other fauna, as well as the smell of vegetation and humidity.

Sherlock's eyes widened in disbelief.

Now it was the Doctor's turn to smirk. "...coming?" he finished, quirking his left eyebrow with a grin.

Sherlock glared at the Doctor again. "It would seem I have no choice-"

"Nope," the Doctor interrupted, bobbing his head in affirmation.

"-however," Sherlock continued, ignoring the Doctor's comment, "you've now got two crimes on your head - kidnapping, and assault and battery. I suggest you try to keep your nose clean from now on - because once I get my phone back (the Doctor grinned sheepishly at this and patted the pocket of his coat where he had put Sherlock's phone after confiscating it) I'm calling Lestrade and getting you in cuffs."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Ooookay, got it. Can we go now?!"

Sherlock resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation at the Doctor's refusal to take anything he said seriously, and crossed the console room to head down the stairwell, joining the Doctor by the door. The doors had swung back since the Doctor had opened them, and Sherlock could only catch a glimpse of some bright, verdant leaves peeking through the crack.

The Doctor turned away from Sherlock to push the doors open again, stepping out into blazing sunshine.

"Welcome...to Brazil!"


End file.
